


Amor Scientia Que Inserviant Cordi

by Safraninflare



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-05 18:25:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15869250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safraninflare/pseuds/Safraninflare
Summary: Soles occidere et redire possunt:nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux,nox est perpetua una dormienda.---Primrose Azelhart would never fall for empty words, for a silver tongued man who unintentionally charmed every woman he had ever met. She had a mission to guide her, one with no room for pretty dark-eyed boys with the world on their lips and fire in their hearts. Primrose Azelhart would never fall for a man like Cyrus Albright, but then again she has been wrong before.





	1. Aude Sapere

**Author's Note:**

> Amor Scientia Que Inserviant Cordi  
> Love and Science to Serve the Heart  
> \---
> 
> Dare to Know

_ “You dance beautifully.” _ he once told her as they stood in the snow. She shivered and thanked him, and in response he offered her his cloak.

 

_ “A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t waste away in the cold.”  _ he said, but she shrugged it off. Cyrus Albright spoke to all women with that silver tongue of his, honeyed words that sounded sweet and tempting but ultimately meant nothing.

 

Primrose Azelhart knew better than to fall for such insignificant pleasantries. She had heard more passionate words come from drunkards in the Sunlands, men who had come for miles to watch her dance. Men who fell for illusion of love in the quiver of her hips, in the soft twitch of a smile on her petal-rose lips. 

 

In a way, they were two sides of the same coin. Their words tasted of the sweetest wine, and yet meant nothing. Other, more naive girls might just fall for him, for his coffee-colored hair and his endless brown eyes, but not her. The last thing she needed was a man to distract her from her mission. 

 

“We’ll be closing in just a bit, miss,” the barkeep said as he dried a glass, “do you need someone to escort you back to your quarters?” 

 

Primrose looked down at her glass, at the last drop of mead while her eyes crossed with a drunken buzz. She knocked back the sip of liquid, then slid the cup back across the bar. 

 

“I need no escort,” she mumbled as she left a few leaves for the barkeep. “But thank you for the offer.”

 

The barkeep opened his mouth to respond, but she was already halfway out the door, her hips swinging as she walked. 

 

The night air was frigid on her skin, the breeze causing it to prickle into gooseflesh as she walked back towards the inn. The others were probably long asleep, warm and safe in their beds, but she couldn’t bring herself to relax the way they could.

 

Her head spun with the buzz of mead, her face flushed warm despite the cold. She could only imagine the scolding she’d get if Ophilia found out where she’d been, why she hadn’t been tucked beneath the Inn’s woolen blankets. 

 

_ “You’ll catch a cold like that,” _ Alfyn would say,  _ “but I do know a tincture that could fix you right up.” _

 

Therion would act aloof, pretending like he didn’t wish that she had invited him, Olberic would offer to escort her home the next time she went out. H’aanit would be rather indifferent, Tressa the same. 

 

_ “You dance beautifully.” _

 

Cyrus would invite himself along the next time, he’d drink her under the table, and then flatter her with empty words that she’d never be able to stomach. Gods, she wished she weren’t so affected by him, by the way he spoke to her. His words were beautiful, but insincere. He spoke like that to every woman, and yet—

 

She found herself in front of his door,  _ knocking _ on his door. Two short raps, followed by two more. The door swung open to reveal a half-clothed professor, his dark eyes heavy with the stick of sleep. 

 

“Primrose?” he asked as he wiped at his eyes, his gaze trailing over the blush on her cheeks. “Is something the matter?” 

 

“Nothing at all, Professor. I was just walking by when I remembered that I promised to teach you how to dance. I hope I didn’t wake you.” 

 

She wasn’t a child, she wasn’t naive. Primrose knew exactly what she was doing, exactly what the implications were of a woman soliciting a man in his quarters at this hour, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to care. To hell with implications, with propriety, with duty. She couldn’t sleep, hadn’t been able to since they left Arianna back in Stillsnow. 

 

Cyrus ran a hand through his hair, a soft smile on his face. “No, you didn’t wake me. I doubt that I’m in any shape to dance, but your talent may indeed bleed into me.” 

 

Primrose nodded and stepped inside, careful to maintain her space. It was stupid of her to be here, to tempt him with a dash of her hips, with a slice of bare thigh. She knew she could still back out, could feign fatigue or accentuate the pull of mead on her breath, and yet she didn’t want to. 

 

“I doubt that you’ll be ready for the stage in one night, but I can at least work with your two left feet.” 

 

He nodded in response, his hair still a bedragged mess, a rare treat to see him disheveled and shirtless, straight out of bed. Perhaps it was the drink, or perhaps the hour, but she couldn’t take his eyes off of him. The scholar, the man with words so hollow, and yet he was the one that she turned to. 

 

“I don’t have any music, but the basic steps are simple enough. Take my hand.” she cooed.

 

He took it in his grasp and brought it to his mouth, placing a feather-light kiss on her knuckles. The gesture made her face hot, though surely she couldn’t have been blushing. 

 

“Is this how you treat all of your teachers, Professor?” Primrose asked, her lips curled in a devilish smile.

 

“Only the beautiful ones, my dear. Now, I doubt that all dancing boils down to the holding of hands.” Cyrus smirked at her, his dark eyes webbed with the red overtone of fatigue. He hadn’t seemed to notice her blush, or the smell of honey-wine on her lips, or if he had he hadn’t bothered to mention it. 

 

Primrose grasped his other hand and positioned it against her lower back, her hand coming to a final rest on his bare shoulder. Posed like this, she was so close to him, her body pressed up against his in the innocent guise of a dance. She could pretend that she had pure intentions, that she wanted to teach a man to dance so as he would no longer embarrass himself at academy gatherings. 

 

“Lead with your left,” she instructed, nudging her toe around the back of his ankle in order to guide him forward. “Now side with your right…” 

 

“May I ask a question, Lady Primrose?” he asked.

 

“Close with the left,” she nudged him again. “Depends on the question, Professor.” 

 

“Is there a reason you came to me at nearly two in the morning to teach me to dance? Besides the ale, that is.” 

 

“Mead, actually. Forward with the right now.” 

 

His steps were slow and clumsy, but he hadn’t yet crushed her feet. Instead he made her heart race, made her face break out in an accursed blush. Why  _ had _ she come to him? Part of her despised him, wanted to wring his neck with the flowery words that he idly tossed to any woman who wandered in his path. 

 

Cyrus smirked. “You’re avoiding the question, my dear.” 

 

“Your flattering words will one day land you in trouble. Out with your le—”

 

Before she could finish, he spun her around so that her back was pressed against his chest, her rear firm against the bulge in his sleep pants as he dipped his mouth into the crook of her slender neck. 

 

“Tell me, my lady, did you really come here to dance?” 

 

His words sent a shiver down her spine, made her head buzz with golden light. She wanted to tell him no, that she had come for him, but Gods she was smarter than that. Primrose Azelhart had a mission, one that couldn’t be put on pause while she mended a broken heart, one that she could have easily avoided by reminding herself of the emptiness behind Cyrus Albright’s words. 

 

“I came here to teach, Professor. Anything else was beyond my intent, but certainly not unwelcome.” Primrose released the breath that she hadn’t realized that she had been holding, a baited sigh laden with the sting of drink. 

 

“Well then, my dear...” 

 

His lips grazed along the skin of her shoulder, feather light heat that ghosted her flesh.  _ Gods _ he was teasing her, and  _ Gods _ she probably deserved it. Still, this felt so different than the other men she’d danced for, from the nights that Helgenish dragged her to his suite with the order for her to purr for him. 

 

Primrose rocked her hips against him, a slow dance of her own as she turned to face him, her green eyes on his dark brown. She stared at him for a moment, her gaze on his mouth, but she barely had a moment to think before she crushed her lips against his. 

 

He wrapped his arms around her waist, while she chose to tangle her fingers in his dark hair. The braid at the nape of his neck had long come undone, but a light tug on his roots made him gasp in her mouth. He slid his tongue past her lips, a burning fire against her own. She knew she could come apart just from his touch, just from the desperate way that he looked at her.

 

She broke the kiss, lips swollen and lungs nearly out of breath, only to find him grinning at her. 

 

“I guess you were right. It was mead after all.” he leaned in to get another taste of her, but she pulled back. 

 

“It’s quite late. I should return to my own quarters, before the others find out.” Primrose said. 

 

Truth be told, she didn’t want to leave. She wanted him to wrap her in his arms, wanted him to cover her with a thousand kisses while she performed a different kind of dance. However, Primrose Azelhart wasn’t a fool. She knew that following his path would only lead to her ruin, would only pull her further from her goals.

 

“You don’t have to leave, you know. If anyone finds you, I could insist that you were teaching me how to dance. You just happened to fall asleep here, after growing fairly fatigued.” Cyrus took another step towards her, but she took one back.

 

“Tell me, do you remember any of the dance that I taught you?” she asked. 

 

He gave her a sleepy smile and scooped her back up into his arms, causing her heart to race in her chest. Forward with left, side with right, close with left. Forward right, side left—

 

Cyrus leaned down to kiss her again, but this time she turned her head before his lips could meet hers. “Until next time, Professor.” 

 

He watched her as she left, her hips swaying with every step. She wanted to turn around, wanted to fall back into his arms, but this was a fluke, an alcohol-fueled disaster waiting to happen. 

 

She stripped off the day’s garments and tucked herself into her own bed, into the inn’s scratchy sheets, and hoped that for once she’d be able to find sleep.


	2. Aude est Facere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To dare is to do.

_ “You lot can never let a mystery just be,” _ she told him as they left Odette’s abode,  _ “you need to figure everything out.”  _

 

Primrose had meant it as a comment on the unsustainable lifestyle of scholars, the constant pursuit of knowledge even while knowing that they cannot possibly hope to know everything that the world has to offer. 

 

He had laughed off the chide, but she could see the spark of annoyance behind his dark eyes, the furrow of his brow that made her think that he would argue back. Instead, he smiled at her, stepped forward just as he did the night she taught him to dance. 

 

The night she kissed him, the night that she felt his heat against her skin. When she had contemplated giving him more, contemplated giving in to his honeyed words.

 

_ “There’s a certain beauty to your honesty.” _ he said, more flattery with no passion behind it. 

 

The last thing Primrose Azelhart expected that night was to find Cyrus Albright outside of her quarters, a bottle of drink in hand. 

 

_ “What are you doing here, Professor?” _ she’d asked, and he replied with a sly smile.

 

_ “I guess I couldn’t let a mystery just be.”  _

 

Now here he was, in her room, his cloak long thrown over the back of a chair, warm brown eyes locked on her. She didn’t know what to say, how to react to him coming back for her. She thought that she left those feelings behind weeks prior, and yet…

 

There was part of her that wanted him to study her like a tome, to bury his nose between her legs and revel in her like he reveled in the pages of his books. She wanted him to run his hands over her, to lay her back and whisper his sweet, empty poetry in her ear. 

 

She knew the taste of his lips, the way that his bare chest felt against her, but she wanted more. The more Primrose watched him, the more scholarly she felt. After all, he gave her a thirst for knowledge, the knowledge of what it would be like to have him whole. 

 

“You’re staring, Lady Primrose.” he murmured as he stepped nearer to her, the scent of old books and leather heavy on her nose. His body was dangerously close to hers, so much so that she could feel his heat against the bare skin of her stomach.

 

“I guess I couldn’t let a mystery just be, Professor.” 

 

Primrose pressed her lips against his, threw her arms around his neck as his hands found her waist. This was a dance, one drastically different than the elegant waltz that she had taught him weeks prior. This was something different, something  _ carnal _ that drove her senses wild. 

 

His fingerpads scorched like fire as they wandered on her skin, his mouth sparked with divine electricity as his tongue found its way past her lips. She wanted him more than she had wanted any man before, save for the crow-branded crowd that had killed her father.

 

_ Stupid _ . 

 

This was a moment of morbid curiosity for the both of them, that of which she was sure. She’d have him here, they’d bring each other to the peak of pleasure, and then in the morning they’d pretend like they were but travel mates once more. Perhaps he’d protest, but as much as she wanted him in this moment, she knew she couldn’t let him pull her from her path. 

 

Still, she let him bring her to the bed, let him strip her down in a way that would make Sealticge herself blush. A dance of their own, one that hadn’t been rehearsed and perfected until her feet bled. 

 

She expected him to sweet talk her while they made love, for him to shower her in empty compliments while he fucked her, but he mainly kept silent, as if studying her. Every touch, every buck of her hips or delightful mewl, it seemed that he was savoring it. He only spoke again when they finished, when she found herself wrapped up in his arms with his lips at her ear.

 

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of viewing, my lady.” he whispered, his words hot against the crook of her neck. He trailed a few more kisses down her shoulder, doting on her like she was some sort of doll. 

 

“Did you find your answer, Professor?” she purred, enjoying his attention for the moment. 

 

“Perhaps, my dear. But there is also the chance that I’ll need further research on the subject.” 

 

Primrose pulled herself up to a sit, a strange feeling growing in her chest.  _ Further research. _ Perhaps this wasn’t curiosity that had gotten the better of him, perhaps his words weren’t so empty after all. 

 

She swallowed and rose from the bed, her chestnut hair disheveled a she frowned. “Perhaps. But perhaps, Professor, you should tend to your books.”

 

Cyrus sat up, a frown on his kiss-swollen lips. “Lady Primrose, is something the matter?” 

 

She forced a soft smile, a friendly gesture so that he wouldn’t see the cracks in her facade, the conflicted disposition of her heart. “Nothing at all. I’ve just found myself fatigued, and if we’re going to find out more about From the Far Reaches of Hell, you’ll have to be in top shape as well.” 

 

“I suppose you’re correct,” he said as he rose, collecting his clothes from the floor, “and we wouldn’t want to worry the others.”

 

“No, we wouldn’t. I don’t think Ophilia would be able to look you in the eye if she knew.” 

 

Primrose gave him another stiff smile as she shooed him out of the room, denying his attempt at a goodbye kiss. Instead she threw herself down on the bed, her heart racing in her chest. 

 

She had spent years dancing in the taverns of Sunshade, years turning down men’s empty advances. Never once had she fallen for them, never once had she allowed one of them into her bed. Cyrus was different, or at least she wanted to believe he was. 

 

Gods, she hoped that she could stop herself before she inevitably fell.


	3. Aut Consilio, Aut Ense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By council, or by the sword.

Primrose had avoided him ever since their arrival in Noblecourt, had made excuses to run or to catch up with old faces. It wasn’t his fault, she didn’t think. The place just stirred up too many old memories that she couldn’t hide from any longer. 

 

The place was still so familiar, still more of a home than Sunshade had ever been, and yet it made her stomach churn and her skin crawl. Noblecourt was the place where her life had gone so disastrously wrong, the place where her father would slumber for all eternity.

 

Her avoidance of Cyrus only grew worse when she ran into a familiar face, one that she hadn’t thought about in years. Simeon, the man that she thought she’d one day marry. She left him behind when she left the town, when she ran away to Helgenish’s employ. Now he was back, and by the twelve she didn’t know how to feel.

 

Simeon was familiar, her rock during hard times, but Cyrus… No. He viewed her with morbid curiosity, another area for him to study. She couldn’t help the dangerous pangs of attraction she felt for him, but she knew to push them away. He, however, didn’t seem to get the memo.

 

_ “May I be so bold as to pry,”  _ he asked her, though he couldn’t look her in the eye.  _ “That man is very important to you, is he not?” _

 

She wanted to scream, wanted to storm off and avoid him some more, but he was conveniently blocking her exit.  _ “Why do you say that?” _

 

Playing coy was always her strong suit, but it seemed like his prying eyes could look right through her, could pierce straight through her heart and into her soul. Some women would find it romantic, or endearing, but she just found it invasive. A lady is entitled to her secrets, especially a lady with as many as Primrose Azelhart.

 

_ “Had you not chosen to live your life the way you do, I wonder if—” _

 

She cut him off, sharp words coming from a sharp tongue.  _ “You can stop right there, Professor.” _

 

Was he jealous? Or was he simply so wrapped up in his own head that he couldn’t even fathom that she may have had a life before, or that she wasn’t  _ ashamed _ of how she lived her life now.

 

_ “How I live my life is my affair, not yours.” _ she snapped at him, teeth bared like one of H’aanit’s beasts. 

 

He was always sharp, always somehow managed to read her like a book even though she tried to swallow down her feelings, tried to push away anything that didn’t aid her on her quest for revenge. 

 

At least, she tried. She couldn’t push away Simeon, not after everything that they had been through, not after old feelings boiled back to the surface. She trusted him, and that trust had only given her a knife to the belly and more fuel for the fire of her revenge. 

 

Simeon had been the one to kill her father. Gentle, kind Simeon who wrote her poems and dried her tears. The ultimate betrayal. She’d kill him. She’d kill him if it was the last thing that she ever did…

 

She didn’t remember leaving the manse, didn’t remember the hours that Ophilia and Alfyn spent trying to patch her up. When she reawoke in Revello’s home, she thought it just a bad dream, at least until the pain from her wound kept her from rising out of bed.

 

“You shouldn’t exert yourself, my lady,” Cyrus mumbled as he looked up from his book. From his position, the bags under his eyes, it seemed that he had been assigned the task of babysitting her while she slept. Of course that’d be her luck. “You’ll reopen your wound.”

 

Primrose shifted so that her back turned away from him, and yet she couldn’t tame the flutter of her heart in her chest. Part of her was glad that, out of all of her travelling partners, Cyrus was the one that was there. Then again, there was part of her that was terrified. If Simeon had betrayed her, then so could the Professor. 

 

“You gave us all a scare, you know.” he said.

 

She wrinkled her nose and pulled the blankets up over the bottom half of her face. “I know.”

 

“If Revello hadn’t found you when he did—”

 

“I’m aware, Professor.” her words tasted like poison in her mouth, sharp and full of venom. She wanted to hurt him, wanted to push him away so that she couldn’t ever be so foolish again. 

 

After years in the Sunlands, after years fooling men and flattering them with empty words, she should have seen Simeon’s betrayal from miles away. She was an actress of sorts, a good one at that. 

 

She should have been able to see through his lies and should have cut him down years ago. Primrose couldn’t risk that again. Her heart was much too fragile to open it to someone like Cyrus, and yet she couldn’t get him out of her head.

 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” it was a statement, not a question. “Is it because I commented on your… No, it started before then. Are you ashamed of what we did?”

 

For a moment, she thought back to the night she laid with him, the night that she gave herself over to Cyrus Albright. To his lips, his charm. She’d let him study her like one of his tomes, let him revel in her body as if she were a delicate piece of knowledge that only few had ever learned… 

 

“I’m not ashamed, Professor. I simply have matters that are more important than men with empty words and emptier promises.” Primrose closed her eyes in an attempt to hold back a cascade of unwanted tears. She wouldn’t let him see her like this, not ever. 

 

She heard him rise from his chair, heard his footsteps as he walked towards the door. He paused before he opened it, and even with her back to him she could feel his dark gaze boring through her blankets.

 

“What makes you think that I don’t mean every word I have said to you, my lady?” his eyes met hers for the briefest moment, a shock of sadness that she couldn’t bare to view. “I suppose that’s a question for another time. I’ll let Alfyn know you’ve awoken.” 

 

The door closed behind him, leaving Primrose alone once more. His words echoed in her head, and no matter how much she tried she couldn’t shut him out. Then again, even if she believed he had meant every word he said, even if she allowed her feelings to be true… Hadn’t she thought the same of Simeon? Could letting her guard down leave her with another wound?

 

She laid her head back down on the pillow, her thoughts swirling in a dark tempest. So many questions, and yet she wasn’t sure she’d ever have the answers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't been as happy with the last two chapters as the first, but I am trying something a bit voice-ier than I normally write. Thank you for all the kudos.


End file.
